


How Lamont Found Conrad's Address

by xooxu



Series: Not That I'm Counting Verse [2]
Category: Hanna Is Not A Boy's Name
Genre: Broken Noses, M/M, does that count as graphic depictions of violence?, i'm not sure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-14
Updated: 2013-07-14
Packaged: 2017-12-20 03:52:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/882631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xooxu/pseuds/xooxu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The title says it all.</p><p>Sort of a sequel to Not That I'm Counting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Lamont Found Conrad's Address

**Author's Note:**

> I may write more for this series. I originally wanted to write four parts, similar in length to Not That I'm Counting, from Conrad, Lamont, and Worth, but I'll settle for small drabbles.

You're laughing as hard as you did when the prick first broke your nose.You have to stop to cough up a tooth and some blood, but it just makes you laugh harder.

You have to ask. Because really? Since when were you his property?

He glares. That's not the point.

But you just start cackling again, and he hits you again, and both of you know this isn't going anywhere fast.

Your eye is swelling and you tongue the new gap in your teeth that might take a while toget used to.

So what is it about.

He ... doesn't fucking know, the principle of the thing. You had one of those, you know, unspoken agreements about things like this.

Not to burst his bubble, but you're pretty sure you never agreed to anything, spoken or not. 

Fuck you.

Fuck him.

He stands up from over you and kicks you this time, like he feels he' made his point.

No, really, you want to know what this is about. He doesn't just come in swinging for no reason, as much as you appreciate the bruises. 

You, apparently, fucking know why. Or else why would you have bothered lying. You don't lie to yourself, so it was obviously to keep  _him_ away from him...

And you've figured it out--no help from the douche over there--and you're in hysterics, and you can tell that he's pissed, the moment for punches is a few seconds passed, so he just lets you get up and wobble over to your desk. You keep loose paper in the top drawer and there's a scratchy pen in the plant pot of all places, and it only takes you a second to scribble down the address it too you weeks to learn from various methods.

He takes it and only stares at it, anger replaced by and innocent and honest confusion. What is it?

You always figured that the faggot could use a stick up his ass to fish out the one that's already up there, and you tell him so.

Within seconds, he's huffy and offended, and maybe a tiny bit red in the cheeks, and he shows you how offended by balling up the sheet and tossing it lazily over his shoulder. But you know that all he has to do is see an address once and he'd be able to recite it for you shit-faced and concussed (which, if you remember correctly through very hazy memories yourself, came in handy a lot during your high school years). He'd go to see Connie eventually.


End file.
